The young soldier who had opened the tent flap a few minutes before came forward with a folded paper which, in silence, he handed the adjutant and turned back to his desk. Mr. Gordon took the paper, but his eyes followed the soldier. Then he called, somewhat sharply: "Morton!" The young fellow stopped at the dividing crack between the two tent floors, and slowly faced the three officers. He was slender, well built, erect. His uniform fitted him trimly, and was worn with easy grace, his hands and feet were small and slender, his eyes and hair dark and fine, his features delicate and clear cut, his complexion a trifle blistered and beaten by the harsh winds that whistled in every day from the sea, and, as he turned, all three officers were struck by its extreme pallor. "You're sick again, Morton," said the adjutant somewhat sternly. "I thought I told you to see Dr. Heffernan. Have you done so?" "I--wasn't sick enough," faltered the young soldier. "I was all right a minute or two--or rather this morning, sir. It'll be over presently. Perhaps it was the smell of the oil that did it--the stove is close to my desk." But Gordon continued to look at him doubtfully. "Move your desk across the tent for the present, anyhow," said he, "and I'll speak to the doctor myself. With all this newspaper hullabaloo about our neglect of the sick," continued he, turning to his friends, "if a man changes color at sight of a smash-up he must be turned over to the Red Cross at once. What is it, orderly?" he finished suddenly, as the tent flaps parted and a soldier in complete uniform, girt with his belt of glistening cartridges, stood at salute, some visiting cards in his gloved hand. "Lieutenant Gray here, sir?" was the comprehensive answer. Then, catching sight of the young officer who stepped quickly forward, he held forth the cards. "The adjutant-general's compliments, sir, and he'd be glad if the lieutenant would come over at once." Gray took the cards, curiously studied them and then read aloud, one after the other, and placing the topmost underneath the other two as soon as read. "MR. LISPENARD PRIME." "MISS PRIME." "MISS AMY LAWRENCE." It was the last name that lay uppermost at the end, receiving particular attention, and the Parson noted it. "That's the pretty cousin, Billy," quoth he. "Case of the last shall be first, don't you see? Scoot now, you lucky boy, and tell us all about it later." But Gray was still gazing dreamily at the cards. "I'm sure I never met any of them before in my life," said he. "There must be some mistake. Yet--that name--sounds familiar--somehow," and "that" was the only name now in sight. "I'm off," he suddenly announced, and vanished.